


As Life Happens

by Cdelphiki



Series: Exiled Robins [5]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics), Robin: Son of Batman (Comics)
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, F/M, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tim is A Worried Dad, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2019-11-16 12:35:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18094427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cdelphiki/pseuds/Cdelphiki
Summary: A series of one-shots centered around the Batfamily in theLife HappensAU.  Don't think too hard about the timeline.  Some of these will just be for fun.1. Bristol runs away, and Bruce is there to catch her and set her straight.2. Damian hurts himself and Tim overreacts.





	1. Bruce & Bristol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 13-year-old Bristol's younger brothers are picking on her, and she reacts poorly, running straight to her Papa in order to live with him forever, sans the little brothers. But Bruce has seen sibling rivalries before and knows exactly what to say to cheer her up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't read _Life Happens_ , I kind of recommend you do before this, but you do you, fam.
> 
> This was the request I kind of jumped off of. I had this plot going a different way until I realized using Bruce was wayyyyy better, thanks to this request: 
> 
> Raberba_girl: Could I request a ficlet about Bristol and/or Drake as older children (like anywhere between age 7-12, maybe) interacting with any of their uncles and/or grandpa?

Thirteen, they had decided, was the age the kids would get their own universe hopping watches.

There were a lot of reasons to give the kids their own watches. Access to their Papa, Aunt, and Uncles was the biggest, but safety was also a driving factor. Because with one of the watches, it would only take 15 seconds for them to get out of a bad situation. Kidnapped? Teleport to the cave. Lost? Teleport to the cave. The universe is ending and a giant meteor is about to obliterate the world? Teleport to the cave.

The safety aspect almost made Tim want to put a watch on each of his kids. But since Tim actually _knew_ his boys, he knew better than to do such a thing. They’d teleport themselves to the cave and hide under Bruce’s cape every time Tim tried to make them eat their vegetables. Or clean their room. Or, heaven forbid, _do homework._

And Bruce, the giant softee, would harbor them, too.

So yeah. His boys just weren’t quite there in maturity, and that was okay. They were just kids.

Bristol’s thirteenth birthday was kind of insane, just in the fact it was happening. Tim spend the entire day n absolute shock that he was the parent of a _teenager._

And, sure, he’d already _raised_ a teenager, but this was one he witnessed the birth of. This was one he created.

He was _old enough_ to have a teenage daughter.

Those two words, just by themselves, terrified him.

_Teenage daughter._

Bristol was ecstatic when Bruce gave her the watch. They hadn’t told her she’d be getting one, but when she opened the box and looked inside at it, she started crying. Loud, ugly, happy tears. She hugged every adult in the room.

“There are rules,” Tim had said, because there are always rules, but Bristol eagerly agreed to them. As long as it meant she got her _own_ teleporter.

The most important rule, Tim had stressed, is that she needed to _tell them_ if she was going to Gotham. Someone had to know. Unless it was an emergency, she wasn’t allowed to worry them by disappearing.

Of course it only took three weeks for her to completely disregard that rule and just run off.

\- - -

Drake was stupid.

He was stupid and rude and awful and horrible and Joshua was just _mean._

And Bristol hated both of them.

She wished her parents had never had more kids. She was perfectly fine as an only child. And little brothers just sucked.

Joshua particularly sucked. He was only seven, she kept telling herself. He was _seven._ She should be nice to him. She shouldn’t hate him.

But he was just so mean. He always knew exactly what to say to get to her. And it’s not like she even did anything to him to deserve it. She ignored him for the most part! The second she fought back he’d start wailing and Mom or Dad would be all on her case about being nice to little kids. Being a good big sister and loving her brothers.

It was stupid.

Dad told her that little brothers were just like that. Mean. Joshua didn’t _really_ hate her, he said, because she’s his big sister. So she should be nicer to him. After all, _he_ regretted being mean to _his_ little brother when they were kids.

Which, that was dumb. Bristol was 94% certain Dad had always adored Damian. And vice versa. He was just making up stories about a horrible sibling rivalry to get her to be nicer to Josh. So he wouldn’t have to listen to them bicker all the time.

And _maybe_ she would be nicer to him. If he was nicer to _her!_ Maybe Dad could shut up about being nice and actually do something about Joshua.

But maybe that’s on her, she thought bitterly, because she never wants to tell Dad what Josh says. And when she doesn’t tell him what he says, he can’t do anything about it. Because he doesn’t know what’s going on.

On the other hand, maybe Mom and Dad should be paying more attention.

Yeah.

This is obviously completely their faults.

_It’s just because they didn’t want you._

Bristol was not going to cry. She was at _Disney World._ The happiest place on earth. She was _not_ going to cry.

She had been begging to go to Disney World for years. For years and years. Mom said she wasn’t going with a baby, so they’d have to wait until the youngest kid was 5. Which was really, really, really annoying. Because she was the oldest and the timer kept getting reset on her.

Then Josh turned 5, but they spent their summer vacation in Papa’s world, with all her aunts and uncles and cousins. And last year’s summer with Paul, and both of her aunts and their families on his side.

Finally, they decided to have a summer vacation for just them. Just the five of them. And they went to Disney World. For a whole ten days! _Ten days!_ Because Mom didn’t want to get burnt out being in the park all day everyday for a week straight. So they did a day in the park, and then a day to relax and shop and eat and have fun in the hotel.

But then Mom and Dad went down to have a ‘date night’ together while Bristol stayed with the boys in the hotel room, watching movies with them.

And that’s when it all went to hell.

Because Joshua was the _worst._ And Drake was stupid.

\- - -

‘We can’t find Bristol,’ the text had read.

Tim was _not_ panicking.

His 9-year-old son couldn’t find his sister. The sister who was supposed to be watching him. The sister who _wasn’t supposed to leave the room._

They had been so clear, he thought. So very clear on the rules. He and Kyla were just going down to the bar for a drink. It wouldn’t be more than an hour or so. They were still in the building, and the kids were to _call_ if they needed anything. Call. _And not leave the room._

In fact, the deadbolt was supposed to be turned, and the privacy lock, too. They weren’t even supposed to go out on the balcony. Kyla had bought several movies to occupy them. And they had a couple board games. And their phone!

There was no reason to leave the room.

So his daughter ‘missing’ was a little concerning.

Okay.

A lot concerning.

But Tim was _not_ panicking.

“Honey, relax,” Kyla said, from right beside him as he bashed the elevator call button for the third time, “She probably just went to the vending machine or something.”

Tim just jammed his finger against the call button again, because his little girl was missing. He could not _relax._

He knew they were too young to leave in a hotel room alone. Never mind they left them in their apartment for a couple hours at a time, here and there, while he and Kyla had dinner alone in one of the restaurants on their block. Never mind that Bristol had _promised_ to stay in the room. She was only thirteen and the boys were nine and seven. Seven!

On top of all that, now they were alone up there.

The elevator couldn’t bring them upstairs fast enough.

\- - -

Bruce was, admittedly, a little startled when he heard the sound of someone teleporting into the cave. As far as he was aware, Tim and his family were on vacation. Since the watches only teleported to the cave or Tim’s laundry room, it was kind of impractical to use them when out of town.

He was even more startled to turn and see Bristol standing there, carrying a bag. She looked like she had been crying, or was about to start.

“Bristol?” he asked, jumping to his feet, “Is everything okay? Where are your parents?”

“I don’t care,” she cried as she rubbed at her face, “I hate them. I’m never going back.”

Bruce furrowed his brow and approached her, kneeling down to look her over, trying to find _something._ Anything. He wasn’t sure.

Tim and his family were so happy. The perfect little family. He had no idea what would cause his granddaughter to come crying to him about hating her parents.

“Never?” he asked, putting a hand on her arm, trying to comfort her.

She shook her head and wrapped both arms around his neck, starting to cry right into his shoulder. “Never ever.”

“Care to tell me why?” he asked, wrapping his arms around her.

“Joshua is an asshole.”

Bruce just blinked. Should he correct her language? He rarely did the whole parenting thing to his grandkids. They weren’t his responsibility, per se.

But she was right. Joshua was an asshole. Most little kids were. He learned that from Tim’s children, mostly. And Jason’s toddler.

Also Damian, but he didn’t like thinking about the short time he got around little-kid Damian.

He let go of her and held her so they could talk face-to-face. “What did Joshua do?”

Bristol looked away, biting at her lip as she did, which only piqued Bruce’s curiosity.

“What is it?” he asked, as gently as he possibly could.

“He-” she started, shifting on her feet a little, “uh. He just said that- that-”

Before she got the sentence out, she broke out into tears again, so Bruce just hugged her again, shushing at her as he rubbed her back.

“He said Mom and Dad didn’t want me,” she wailed, clutching onto Bruce like he was all that was keeping her upright, “I’m just an accident and no one likes me.”

“I can assure you none of that is true.”

“But it is,” she cried, “they didn’t mean to have me.”

“That is-” he started, then sighed, “Bristol, honey. Did you tell your parents you were coming here?”

She sniffed and pulled back, frowning at Bruce, “It’s not like they care.”

“Okay. Okay,” Bruce pat at her shoulder and stood, “Why don’t you go put your stuff in your room, all right? You can stay here tonight. I’ll let your dad know you’re here so he doesn’t worry. I’ll be up in a few minutes, okay?”

“Fine,” she mumbled, dragging her bag to the elevator.

\- - -

Kyla had to admit, Tim’s panic might be warranted.

Bristol was no where in their suite. And her bag was gone. But she’d only been missing for about fifteen minutes, by their estimations.

So it wasn’t quite time to go into full blown panic, but they were about to call down to the desk about it. Because a 13-year-old girl roaming a hotel by herself was a recipe for disaster.

Bristol had been trained by _Batman_ to defend herself. Kyla was quite confident in her girl’s ability to fight off anyone wishing her harm. But still. She was small for her age. And, probably more significant, she was Kyla’s little girl. She was going to worry.

Tim had gone to check the vending machines down the hall, and together they’d go search the arcade and lounge areas next if she didn’t show up. After all that, they’d call the front desk. And maybe the police.

It was while on the way to the arcade and ice cream parlor downstairs did Tim’s phone start ringing.

Immediately, frantically, he pulled it out, but then his face fell. Must not have been Bristol.

But just as quickly, Kyla saw a touch of hope cross his eyes. Hope and relief. “Bruce?” he said, pressing the phone to his ear, “please tell me she’s with you.”

Kyla felt herself relax. Of course Bristol used her watch. They should have suspected that immediately. Honestly, she had kind of forgotten they gave her that. She’d only had it a couple months at that point.

“Oh thank God,” Tim breathed, visibly slumping forward with relief, “Is she okay?”

Moving to Tim’s side, Kyla tried her best to listen in. When she still couldn’t hear what Bruce was saying, she shot Tim a glare, causing him to set the phone to speaker.

“ _-about you not wanting her._ ”

“That’s absurd,” Tim said, scowling, “of course we want her.”

“We love her,” Kyla added, raising an eyebrow at Tim. Bristol thought they didn’t want her? Is that was Bruce had said?

“ _I know,_ ” Bruce said tiredly, “ _I’ll talk to her. But you should probably talk to her, as well.”_

 _“_ Okay,” Tim sighed, “I- I can come.”

Kyla shook her head. If they went to Gotham, they’d end up back in New York after teleporting back. How would they explain Tim and Bristol, or Kyla and Bristol, just appearing back in NYC without taking the plane with the rest of the family?

In fact, how were they going to explain Bristol’s sudden absence, anyway?

“ _Actually,”_ Bruce said slowly, _“why don’t you leave her here for the night. It’ll give her the chance to cool off and me the chance to program a teleporter to get her back to Florida with you.”_

Of course Bruce would have already been thinking through that. Tim probably had been, too. Those two were just alike.

“Fine,” Kyla said, when she could see a thousand arguments spring to Tim’s tongue, “but she’s grounded once she gets back.”

Tim scowled, and Bruce just laughed and said, “ _I can imagine.”_

“Tell her we love her,” Kyla said, taking Tim’s free hand into her own and squeezing, “and that we absolutely want her.”

 _“I will,”_ Bruce said softly, _“I’ll see you guys in the morning.”_

“Thanks, B,” Tim said, pulling the phone away from his face to hang up, “I’m not happy about this.”

“You know she’s safe. Let her cool off. Once she sleeps on it she’ll feel better, you know it.”

“Bruce can screw this up in so many ways,” Tim mumbled, squeezing her hand back as they made their way to the room, “so many.”

“It’ll be fine. Have a little faith in your dad.”

\- - -

When Bruce got up stairs, after calling the kids to let them know he wouldn’t be out on patrol that night, he found Alfred in the kitchen making some hot chocolate for him and Bristol.

“I guess you saw our guest?” he said, accepting the tray when Alfred offered it.

“Indeed. It is quite difficult to miss when Miss Bristol is in the Manor.”

“That is true.”

“Remember, Master Bruce,” Alfred said, patting his shoulder as he walked past, “sometimes all children need is reassurance.”

“Right.”

There were dozens of rooms in the manor. And Bruce’s kids and grandkids visited quite regularly, which meant most of them had a room of their own. Maybe not completely officially, and not in name, but no one used each others rooms, and most of them had stuff they just left in the manor.

Bristol’s was probably the most decorated of all the rooms. She was also the oldest grandchild, so maybe that had something to do with it. She had the most time to change the room.

In the corner was a beanbag chair. Bright pink, surrounded by flower pillows and usually sporting a fuzzy blanket. Bruce knew from experience it was one of her favorite places to nap while visiting. And had been. Since she was six.

That was exactly where he found her, curled up in it, buried underneath the blanket. With a sigh, Bruce dragged an ottoman over, then sat the tray of hot chocolate on it so he could sit down next to her.

“You know I can’t drink that,” Bristol mumbled, her face partially buried in a pillow, when Bruce tried to hand her a mug.

“Hm,” Bruce said, taking a sip of the concoction and then offering it to her again, “Do you honestly think Alfred would forget? It’s almond based.”

Bristol offered a tiny little smile and sat up enough to take the mug. “I like Alfred’s hot chocolate.”

“Who doesn’t?” Bruce hummed, picking up his own mug.

“Joshua, probably.”

“Can I assume your dad doesn’t know Josh is mean to you?” Bruce asked, crossing his legs and sitting up to be eye-level with Bristol, in her beanbag chair.

Bristol frowned, but didn’t dispute his words. With a shrug, she said, “He doesn’t care. I’m supposed to be the oldest.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes and looked off toward the wall, considering. “I don’t think he’d say that.”

“He does,” she protested, a hint of bite in her voice.

“I don’t think he’d say that if he knew Josh was bullying you. He used to get so upset when I didn’t do anything about Daman bullying him. I can’t imagine he’d stand back and let his own kids go through something that bothered him so much as a teen.”

“Damian wasn’t mean like Josh.”

At that, Bruce had to laugh. “Damian was awful. I should have been a better father to him and Tim and done something about it. I was just so glad he was using his words instead of his sword.”

“But,” she said, shifting in her chair to level Bruce with an inquisitive look, “but Dad and Damian are best friends.”

“Now,” Bruce agreed.

“What did Damian used to say?”

“Oh, all sorts of things. He always called Tim, “Drake,” to remind him he was adopted. Would sneer about being the blood son, about how no one wanted him in the family.”

“Well, at least it wasn’t true. Obviously you _wanted_ Dad or you wouldn’t have adopted him. You don’t accidentally adopt a kid.”

Bruce smiled and set his half-empty mug to the side. “Do not underestimate your father’s ability to turn everything into an insecurity.”

After a moment of silence, Bruce added, “You’re a lot like him in that regard.”

Bristol scowled and said bitterly, “But Josh is _right._ I was a mistake.”

“Hrn,” was all Bruce said for a moment as he pulled his knees up to rest his arms on, his hands dangling out in front of him as he thought. “Can I tell you a secret?” he asked, a conspiratorial smile on his face as he turned back to his granddaughter.

She looked at him skeptically but said, “I guess?”

“Damian was an accident.”

Bristol stilled, gaping at Bruce as her breathing nearly stopped for a second. “ _Uncle_ Damian _?”_

 _No, I have two kids named ‘Damian.’_ He just nodded, smiling as she sat back, clearly still processing the revelation.

“But- But you love Damian.”

Nodding seriously, Bruce said, “Yes.”

“You didn’t want him?”

“See,” Bruce said gently, “this is where you’ve got it all wrong. Just because I didn’t mean to create Damian doesn’t mean I didn’t want him. Quite the contrary. From the very instant I knew about him, from the very second I laid eyes on him, I wanted him. I loved him and wanted him.”

Bristol sat taller and protested, “But-”

“But, nothing,” Bruce quickly interrupted, just to have Bristol ignore him and finish the thought anyway.

“But he was a mistake.”

“No. He was an _accident,”_ Bruce paused for a moment, then asked, “You know another word for accident?”

“What?”

“Surprise.”

“Yeah,” she exasperated, “but mistake is _also_ another word for accident.”

Bruce just shook his head, smiling warmly at the little girl. “No. Mistakes are different. Mistakes are something we do that we regret, be it on purpose or not. Something can be both a mistake and an accident, but just because something is one doesn’t mean it's the other.”

“Humph,” she pouted, pulling her blanket back up around her, burrowing back down into the beanbag chair.

Bruce pulled the blanket away from her face and said, “I know for a fact that your parents do not see you as a mistake.”

“How would you even know?” she snapped, glaring at Bruce.

“Because I know your parents. I know your dad. I might not have been there the day he found out about you, but I can promise you he never for a second regretted your existence. I got to meet you when you were almost two, and the amount of love he had for you then was breathtaking. Listening to Damian talk about it, it sounds like he loved you that much from the very second he laid eyes on you, just like I loved Damian.”

“You’re just saying that,” she mumbled, hiding her face again. But Bruce could see the pink on her cheeks. Hear the smile she was straining to hide.

“And you know who else loves you?” Bruce asked, combing her hair back out of her face, where the blanket mussed it up.

“Who?” she asked, pulling the blanket down just enough so one of her eyes was peeking out.

“Your mom. Your brothers. Your aunts and uncles and cousins and Alfred and _me.”_

“I love you, too,” she mumbled, embarrassed, as she hid again.

“Do you remember the last time you and me got to spend the evening together, just us two?” Bruce asked, pinching the blanket to yank it away from her face again.

“No.”

“That’s because we’ve never done it. What do you say to a movie marathon, in the theater?”

“Don’t you have to go be Batman,” she asked, sitting up and throwing the blanket to the side.

“I can be Batman every night. I don’t get to see you every night.”

“Okay,” she said, bouncing up to her feet, “but I get to pick the movie.”

“Seems fair,” Bruce said, getting to his feet to follow her out.

“And it has to be in color!” she shouted, now running down the hall toward the theater.

All Bruce could do was smile. He honestly had no idea what he’d done right in life to bring him to the point of having grandchildren. Several of them. By multiple children. But he was quite happy with the outcome.

\- - -

Bruce carried Bristol to bed once she fell asleep and got to work fixing up a teleporter to bring them to Tim and Kyla’s hotel room in Florida. It was really just a simple matter of tapping into the universe to get an exact read on their coordinates, something made simple by the presence of their watches, and program that into his own watch.

And after breakfast, they teleported into the hotel room.

Before Bruce’s vision had fully adjusted back from the blinding light multiversal travel caused, Kyla was dragging Bristol into a tight hug, whispering a mixture of relieved words and reprimands in her ear as she did.

“Joshua told her you and Kyla saw her as a mistake,” Bruce said without preamble, and Bristol let out a loud squeal of protest.

“ _Papa,”_ she whined.

“He said _what?”_ Tim snapped, his gaze turning sharply to the little boy, who was sitting on the couch in the suite, now looked at them with wide eyes.

“No I didn’t,” he cried.

“Yes you did,” Drake mumbled, scooting away from Josh a little on the couch.

“You agreed with him,” Bristol shouted, still not freed from Kyla’s arms, who seemed to be hugging onto her tighter now that she knew exactly what had upset Bristol.

“None of you were mistakes,” Tim said, running a hand through his hair, “holy crap. Bristol, darling, next time talk to us if something like this is bothering you, okay? And you,” he said turning his gaze back on the boys, “are grounded when we get home.”

“What?” Drake squealed, while Josh just sank further into the couch, nodding.

After a moment of clear exasperation with all his children, he turned to Bruce and offered a tired smile. “Thanks for taking care of her. I hope she wasn’t too much trouble.”

“None at all,” Bruce said, wrapping an arm around Tim before he left, “send her over whenever. Or any of your kids. I enjoy borrowing your children.”

“We had like a sleepover,” Bristol said happily, “watched movies in the theater until we fell asleep.”

“No fair, I want to do that,” Josh grumbled.

“Another time, chum,” Bruce said, walking over to give each of the boys a pat on the head, “Come visit once your vacation is over.”

“Love you, B,” Tim said, patting his shoulder as he went to activate his portal.

“Bye, Papa,” the kids all chorused.

Bruce smiled and pinched the buttons on his watch. “See you later.”

He could hear Tim start to lecture the boys as the light enveloped him, still see Kyla comforting Bristol, and he knew it would all be okay.

Maybe he would call Damian once he got home. Invite him over for lunch. Because he’d never given the ‘accident not mistake’ speech to Damian. And while he was certain Damian knew he was loved, it was always nice to see his kids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to kasyfairytaillover for assuring me this wasn't too stupid to post. <3
> 
>  
> 
> OH AND IN DEFENSE OF THE DRAKE A JOSH THING. I swear I didn't make that connection until long after Josh had been named in my head when Tim randomly said in some dialogue "Drake and Joshua," and I was like oh. Oh. OH CRUD MONKEYS. 
> 
> Joshua is named after the Joshua in the Bible that led the Israelites to the promised land. It was thematic with _Life Happens,_ okay??? And I loved that too much to let go, and I had already named Drake in the actual Fic, so I couldn't change that, either.


	2. Damian & Tim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eight months into their exile, Damian and Tim are baking cookies when Damian accidentally burns himself. Tim's reaction catches Damian off guard, but in a good way.

Damian enjoyed helping Tim cook. Tim wasn’t the best cook in the world, but he was getting better, and it was fun when they did stuff together. And usually, Tim tried to take on the role of teacher whenever they did things together, just as he was doing that afternoon.

As if Damian _needed_ Tim to teach him how to dump flour into a bowl and mix. Baking was just basic science. Chemistry, really. It wasn’t difficult to do once one understood how the ingredients interacted with each other.

But, regardless, Tim spent the afternoon teaching Damian how to make cookies so they could bring them over to Paul’s house for dinner the following day. It took them longer than strictly necessary, because the recipe they used ended up yielding a ridiculous amount of cookies. The number of workouts they’d have to do to work the calories off, Damian was already dreading.

Damian had sneaked a cookie, though, out of the first batch from the oven. It was hot and _delicious_. So definitely worth the calories.

Somehow, as they were finishing up the last couple batches, Damian had gotten which cookie sheet was cooled and waiting for him to take it to the other side of the kitchen mixed up with the one fresh out of the oven. So when he went to grab the sheet with his bare hand, he grasped 300º hot metal. And didn’t notice for a good half second, once his hand had been thoroughly burned.

“Damian,” Tim shouted, just as the cookie sheet clattered back onto the stove top where Damian dropped it, “Oh my God. Why would you do that?”

He felt frozen, as he stared down at his quickly reddening palm. Why had he done that? Why had’t he noticed? Burns were supposed to hurt. _Hot_ was supposed to hurt. But he hadn’t felt anything. Not until the damage was already done.

Tim, however, was not frozen, because before Damian knew it, he was being tugged across the kitchen to the sink and his hand was being plunged under the lukewarm tap water, all while Tim continued blabbering on about things being ‘hot’ and ‘being careful’ and ‘oh my God.’

After blinking a couple times, Damian looked over at his brother, who still had his wrist in a death grip as he held his hand under the water. He was panicking, Damian could tell, over a simple burn. A minor burn. Really, Damian barely felt it now that the water was working. It’d be a little tender for the next few days, but it would hardly be noticeable. Tim’s panic was unwarranted. He was fine.

“Tim,” he said, trying to get Tim’s attention and cease his pointless prattle. When Tim didn’t respond except to repeat how ‘dumb’ it was to touch the cookie sheet, he repeated, “Tim.”

“Seriously, brat, you’re going to be the death of me,” Tim mumbled, pulling Damian’s hand out from under the water to look at, “God that looks bad. Should we go to the hospital?”

“Why would we go to the hospital? I’m _fine.”_

 _“_ Maybe, maybe I should look it up. See what Google says….”

“Tim,” Damian repeated, trying to tug his hand free from Tim’s grasp. But Tim was holding on tight, and it would take an actual show of strength for Damian to free himself. He could, of course, but not gently. And he didn't want to hurt Tim.

After pulling his phone out of his pocket with his free hand, Tim started tapping away at the screen. Probably googling minor burns, Damian assumed. But he was too short to see. And he didn’t care.

“Drake,” he snapped, finally earning his brother’s attention, “You can let go now.”

“Oh,” Tim sputtered, looking down at his own hand holding tightly onto Damian’s wrist, as if he hadn’t even noticed he was doing it, “Sorry.”

When Tim let go, Damian shut the water off and gently dried off his hand with a paper towel. “It’s fine. Just a first degree burn. I don’t need to go to the hospital. You can stop panicking.”

“Sorry,” Tim said again, stepping away and quickly cleaning up the bit of mess dropping the cookie sheet had made, “It’s just- sorry.”

He wanted to, but Damian couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed. Not at Tim’s excessive apologizing, and not at his overprotectiveness.

Neither of them were used to this, he supposed.

“It’s really fine,” he said, tossing the used paper towel in the trash.

Minor injuries… minor injuries were nothing. This was merely an inconvenience, at most. Something he wouldn’t notice, normally. Before. No one _cared_ about his minor injuries. And really, before Grayson and Father and Gotham, not many cared about his major injuries, either. Not even _Damian_ had cared about being hurt, before.

But now it was just him and Tim. Eight months together, and in those eight months, Damian could count on one hand the number of times he’d been hurt. Each time had been an accident. And none of them had been serious. A twisted ankle in gym class. A scraped knee while training. A paper cut while drawing.

It was weird. It was his new normal.

So Tim’s panicking… his panicking over something that before wouldn’t have even made anyone’s radar… it was…

Damian could almost justify it.

“Google says to put ointment on it and wrap it.”

“There’s no need,” Damian said, grabbing the now cooled cookie sheet and bringing it over to scrape the cookies off so they could cool on the racks, “It’s fine.”

“Damian,” Tim sighed, turning off the timer when it beeped so he could remove the final batch of cookies, “Let’s just… Let’s just do what Google says, okay?”

The legitimate worry in Tim’s voice was enough to make Damian pause and reevaluate.

Neither of them were used to this. He knew that. This, this minor injury thing. This minor injury being the worst thing that happens to them, thing.

But on top of all that, neither of them were used to _this._ To him and Damian. To Tim being the adult and Damian being the kid. And for as much talk as they gave to them _not_ taking on the roles of caregiver and dependent… those were exactly the roles they had assumed. Honestly, they barely even tried to cover it up. Sure, Tim was probably more lax than most caregivers of 11-year-olds, but that didn’t mean he didn’t care.

He cared _a lot_ , actually.

And perhaps, it was that realization. The realization that Tim was _worried_ because he _cared._ Not because it was an injury, and he was trained in first aid. Not because it was his job to help people. But because he _cared_ about _Damian._ It was that realization that kept Damian calm and stilled him in his defiance.

“Okay,” he said quietly, turning around and taking a seat at the island, waiting for Tim to gather up the needed supplies so he could wrap Damian’s hand, “Do whatever Google says, then.”

In the end, Damian _liked_ being cared about. And if wrapping Damian’s hand unnecessarily was all it took to make Tim happy. To calm his nerves and quell his worries that Damian’s hand would fall off or some nonsense, it was the least Damian could do. He cared about Tim, too, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um hi, hello. I burned my hand making pancakes because I kind of just like.... touched the skillet? For no real reason? And while I was running it under the water this popped into my head. So here. lol

**Author's Note:**

> I take requests over at [Tumblr](https://cdelphiki.tumblr.com). I'll just warn you, I usually get like half the request done, let it sit for four months, during which time I write like 15 random things that have nothing to do with anything, and then I finish the request. Ha. Oops.


End file.
